Got Anything Leather?
by RaindropsOnDeadRoses
Summary: Instagram one-shot from my wincest page, @codependencest. Sam has a recurring dream. Dean makes it a reality.


"Sammy? What're you doin', man? It's five in the mornin'."

"I know," Sam replies in a hushed tone, as though his voice will break through the veil of darkness surrounding them. "I just woke up and…" He stops. Sighs. "I had the dream again."

"The…" Dean sounds confused at first, but then something seems to click and he gets it. "Oh. Yeah? Wanna talk about it?"

They aren't facing one another, but that doesn't quell Sam's embarrassment when his face and neck flush a dark shade of pink. He says nothing.

"Come on," Dean encourages, rolling his hips back against Sam's crotch just a little; not enough to have any serious effect, but enough to make his point. "We both know you're not goin' back to sleep 'til that's taken care of." Sam's breathing falters. Not much, but Dean hears it. "Just tell me about it, baby boy. It's been wakin' you up so hard you're hurtin' at least three nights a week for the past month. I gotta know what it is."

"I don't…" Sam sighs again. "You'll make fun of me. It's pretty fuckin' weird, De. Even for us."

Dean turns around now, meeting his brother's eyes, entirely open and honest. "I would never make fun'a you. Not for somethin' like this. I told you from the beginning, you can always feel safe with me. If there's ever anything you need to try, or anything you wanna do, I'm down. You just gotta talk to me."

Sam is silent for probably a solid five minutes, and Dean has almost drifted back to sleep when he says, "Panties."

"…You wanna elaborate?"

Sam blows out a long, steadying breath. "It's, uh… Every… Every time I have this dream, you're bottoming, and you're… wearing panties. I just kinda push 'em over and…"

"And fuck me?" Dean continues for him. "Just like that?"

Sam hold back a whimper. "Y-yeah. They're never the same pair. Sometimes they're lace. Silk. Tonight was the worst. Or… best, I guess, depending on how you look at it. They were still loose enough for me to… to move 'em out of the way, but they were… leather. No matter what they're made out of, though, they're always black."

A thoughtful silence follows until Dean speaks. "Huh. Okay."

"O…kay?"

"We'll get some tomorrow. Or… today, I guess, since it's five a.m. Whatever kind you want, you pick 'em out."

"R-really? You're not… It doesn't, like… freak you out?"

Dean shakes his head, a slight grin on his mouth. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. When are you gonna learn that I'd do anything for you? No, it doesn't freak me out. But we'll worry about that later, okay? For now…" Dean reaches down, tracing along the line of Sam's cock through his underwear. "Let's see what we can do about this."

* * *

><p>Dean shuts Sam's door for him after he slides into the car, always a gentleman, and notices that Sam's hands are shaking. "Hey, baby boy, it's okay. Don't be nervous."<p>

Sam huffs out a small laugh. "Sorry. I'm just…"

Dean lets his voice drop just a little. "Already thinkin' about it?"

Sam's face flushes.

Dean leans a little further into the window and sees a tent in his brother's pants. "Wow. Thinkin' about it pretty hard, huh?"

Sam shifts. Readjusts himself. "Hh. Yeah. Guess so."

"You good?" Dean asks honestly. "Need me to do anything right now?"

Sam shakes his head, shifting his gaze to the floorboard. "Nah. I'm good."

The drive to the mall in the middle of town is mostly quiet, and Sam's not sure where they're going but he knows Dean has it all planned out.

So when his brother pulls him out of the car and through the doors of the mall, it shouldn't surprise Sam when Dean stops him right in front of Victoria's fucking Secret. It shouldn't. But it does. He freezes, hazel eyes locked on liquid green ones. "De…"

The corner of Dean's mouth turns up and he places a hand on Sam's shoulder. "C'mon, sweetheart. It's not gonna bite ya."

Sam clears his throat and nods, willing himself to be led into the store. Immediately, his instinct is to avert his eyes.

"Can't really look if you're not lookin', little brother. Y'know for sure you want black, right?"

Sam peeks up through his hair. Nods.

"Alright. Black we can do." Dean thinks back. Remembers the exact description of Sam's dream. "Leather, on the other hand… might be a little harder to come by. So… whaddaya think? Cotton? Lace?"

Before Sam can respond, a girl wearing a name-tag reading 'Heather' appears in front of Dean. "Anything I can help you boys with?" she asks, her voice all fake sugar.

"Actually, darlin'," Dean drawls, because hell if he can't play this game, too, "just goin' out on a limb here, but I gotta ask 'cause my baby boy goes so goddamn crazy for it, you got anything leather?"

She blushes a dark shade of pink, apparently unaware of their relationship until Dean made it blatantly obvious to her. "Actually, it's um… It's funny you should ask. We always get some slightly unusual stock in around Halloween, and a couple days ago we got a fairly interesting shipment, to say the least. It's, uh… Well… Follow me."

They do, Sam gripping Dean's hand for dear life, Dean loving every second of this.

When they reach their destination, Heather turns toward a rack to their left and picks something up. "I'm not sure if this is what you're looking for, but…" She holds her hand out to Dean. "This is the only leather we have."

Dean thinks Sam's gonna piss himself when he holds them up. They're leather, alright. Black leather. They're made like boy shorts in the front, but the back is cut up higher than it should be to leave more skin exposed. That's not the best part, though. From the waistline to the very bottom of the seat, there's a slit held together by a ribbon laced up the back corset-style.

The looks Dean gives Sam prompts Heather to excuse herself.

Dean doesn't need to say it out loud. _You could fuck me through these._

Sam hears him. His knees give out, and he catches himself on a rail. "We need to go."

They make their way to the checkout desk and Sam hangs back, not trusting himself to keep his hands off his brother if he gets too close.

"Shopping for the missus?" the cashier asks Dean, attempting playful conversation. Poor girl.

Dean flashes her a panty-dropping smile. Literally, she drops the panties in her hand. "Nah. They're for me. Well—" He gestures over his shoulder at Sam. "For him for me. He's the one who gets to have all the fun."

Dean's pretty sure he hears her whimper.

He smiles at her again as he pays, which he's not sure she can handle. "Thanks, sweetheart. You have a great night."

"You, too," she half-mutters as she hands him the small bag and his change, sounding winded.

"Oh, trust me." He's not talking to the cashier anymore. Not talking to anyone but Sam. "I will."

When they get back to the motel, Dean's moves are gentle. Delicate. Like he understands how fragile Sam is right now.

Sam clears his throat, pushing the door shut behind him. "We, uh… You don't… bottom… very often, so if you need to…"

Dean understands. Softly and swiftly kisses Sam. "Gimme five minutes." He makes his way into the bathroom, small plastic bag in hand, and closes the door.

Sam waits.

After what feels like an eternity, the door opens again. Dean looks basically the same, save for his face being slightly flushed.

"You okay?" Sam asks, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah, baby," Dean assures him. "Sorry it took so long. Just… wanted to make sure everything was perfect for you."

Sam's lips turn up into a slight smile. "Always is. C'mere."

Dean obeys, shins and knees locking on either side of Sam's thighs.

Sam's kisses are hesitant at first, still nervous, but Dean is sure to lead him away from his insecurities, taking control only to hand it back to his brother when he's sure that Sam's feeling more confident.

Which he must be now, considering that he's removing Dean's clothing at a remarkable speed and physically demanding that Dean to the same in return. Both shirts. Sam's shoes (Dean discarded his in the bathroom). Both pairs of socks and jeans.

When Sam sees them he stops. Freezes like a fucking stone statue.

Dean just lets him look. Lets him take it in.

When Sam musters up the will to speak, he expects himself to tell Dean how hot he looks or how he can't wait to be inside him or maybe even some kind of quip about fucking him like a girl. Instead, the words that come tumbling out of his mouth are, "So goddamn beautiful, big brother."

Dean is obviously taken aback by this. "Sammy…"

Sam presses a finger to Dean's lips. "Shhh. Don't. Don't. Get up."

Dean wordlessly stands, expecting to be greeted by Sam's mouth on his.

Instead, Sam pushes off the bed, and catches Dean's waist from behind, pulling Dean against him with one arm. "Wanna do it just like this, De."

His fingers drift lower, skimming the top edge of the black leather and then lower still, feeling the strain of the fabric under the weight of his brother's thick cock. "Wanna fuck you standing up so I can touch you through these at the same time. Does it feel good?" he asks, genuine curiosity present in his voice.

"What, the, uh… the leather?" Dean asks, fighting to keep his composure. "Yeah. Yeah, Sammy, it does. Feels real good."

Sam's breathes out in a huff against Dean's neck. Rubs his still-underwear-clad dick against Dean's ass, feeling a slight catch each time he ruts against the corset-laced ribbon. "Are you ready?" There's still a part of him that thinks Dean might back out at the last second, tell him it's too much. But, rationally, he knows that won't happen. Knows his brother wouldn't have come this far with the intention of stopping now.

The grin in Dean's voice is audible when he responds, "Always ready for you, sweetheart."

Sam feels his heartbeat pick up speed. Removes his underwear. "I'm gonna get the—"

Dean reaches back and catches his wrist. "Don't need lube, Sammy. Don't need to prep, either, I…" He stops, gathering the courage to finish his sentence. "I got myself ready when we got back. That's why it took such a long time. Opened myself up for you, and I used some when I did it. Just wanna feel you."

Sam thinks he might die from the mental image of his brother standing in the bathroom and working himself open on two or three of his own thick fingers, but he doesn't have time to linger on that right now. Instead, he leans up to nip at Dean's earlobe from behind and whispers, "So fucking hot, De."

Dean arches his back, intentionally pressing himself into his brother's erection. "Just for you."

Sam knows he isn't functioning properly enough to form a coherent sentence by this point, so he doesn't even try. Just lines himself up at Dean's entrance between two crisscrosses of the ribbon and begins to sink himself inside. Despite opening himself up for Sam, Dean is still fairly tight, and Sam moves as slowly as he can manage at first, careful not to hurt his brother.

"You're fine, Sammy," Dean encourages, as though he can read Sam's thoughts. "Keep goin'."

Sam does, but not much more quickly until he's managed to bury himself to the hilt. He can feel the silk of the strings just above his cock and the cool leather against his pelvis every time he drives home.

And if that isn't enough already, Jesus Christ, _Dean._ The sounds he's making should be recorded, Sam decides, and realizes that they'd probably get even better if he'd touch his brother's cock.

Sam starts playing a game, then, gripping Dean through the front of the panties and allowing his hand to travel up and down only with each thrust.

"Oh, god, baby boy. Fuck. So fuckin' good. Love it when you pound me like this. Love feelin' so goddamn full."

Dean's babbling, and Sam knows that means he isn't gonna last long, but it's okay. That makes two of them.

If there's one thing Dean's taught Sam over the years, it's how to dirty talk. Two can play this game. "Know you do, big brother. Know how much you love it when I fuck you so hard you can't walk the next day." He picks up the pace a little in both the front and the back, and feels Dean shudder against him, leaning forward to brace his hands on the nightstand. "Feel so good inside. Like liquid velvet, swear to god. Couldn't ever get enough of this, Dean. No matter how long we did it, I'd always want more."

Dean is literally whimpering, there's no other word for it, and then as soon as Sam angles himself just slightly downward, he fucking loses it. "Oh, oh, fuck, Sammy, god, yeah, right the fuck there. Oh, yeah. Come on, baby boy. Fuck me. Not gonna hurt me. Ah, shit, Sam, yeah. Just like that. Right there. So good. Feels so goddamn good, baby. Gonna make me come. Oh, god, Sam, gonna make me come so fucking hard. Gonna come _so _fucking hard for you. Don't stop. Oh, god. Fuck. Yeah. Harder. Jesus Christ, Sam, I'm coming. Unngh, fuck… Fuck, baby boy, fuck me…"

Sam's own orgasm hits him like a fucking semi and he blames it on Dean's mouth spilling so much gorgeous fucking filth into the air around them that he can't breathe. His vision goes white, but he doesn't stop, hasn't been given permission to yet. Just keeps plowing on like a freight train until somehow he recognizes that he's ridden Dean through it. He stops. It's a miracle that they both make it to the bed rather than just collapsing onto the floor.

Once he can see, Sam's vision focuses on his brother's face, freckles standing out against his currently stark white complexion. "Thank you," he manages before his eyes fall shut again.

"I told you, Sammy," Dean says, finding the strength to lean down and press a solid kiss to the top of his baby brother's head. "Anything for you."


End file.
